Virien's Journal
by Erlind Srion
Summary: The adventures and mishaps of a young Dunmer in the frigid land of Skyrim. When Virien left her home to make her new life in Skyrim she wasn't quite expecting what she found: An ice cold land where the hearts of the people were even colder towards certain races. Battling dragons, surviving the wilds, putting an end to bandits, and living through a war, is just an average day.


Last Seed 19th of Sundas

(August 19th of Sunday)

Gods be damned, I was kicked out of another tavern last night and woke up in the stables just outside of Whiterun with nothing but my back, my quill, my inkwell, and my beloved battered up journal that seems to have kept better than I have on this rough 'adventure' of being in Skyrim. Something tells me I should've stayed around Morrowind, kept clear of this travesty that the Nords call home!

Despite the bitter cold, the hunger, the wild animals, the dragons, the Falmer, the Thalmor, the poisonous plants, the bandits, the Stormcloaks, and the Imperials I have managed to survive thus far. I suppose I should give a brief description on who I am, merely because this tale of my travels might one day be picked up by someone else in hopes that I might be remembered even after dying alone in some unmarked cave in a place that is lonely and forgotten.

My name is Virien, I am a Dunmer (that is to say a Dark Elf). I grew up just outside of Morrowind with my family, they taught me how to use a bow, hunt, cast spells, and various other things to aid in survival and self-defence. I have a gray pallor, dark brown hair, and soulless black eyes (as the Nords like to say), I have left my family's home in order to seek out an adventurous life style as a sell-sword (or bow in my case). So far, my luck has been running dry, after two jobs and many cuts and bruises I am started to realise that Skyrim might just not be the best place to look for work considering they seem to hate outsiders, Kahjiit, Argonians, and Elves in particular (they don't seem to mind other humans as much… the bastards).

It is my almost the conclusion of my first month of being here in Skyrim, seeing as I entered the land on the 1st of Last Seed. As I had said before, I was kicked out of a tavern (really it was an inn called the Drunken Huntsman).

The evening had been going on fine, I was sitting in a corner with this other dark elf named Janessa sharing stories about our adventures and having a lovely time when some loud mouthed Whiterun guard stood up from his table and proceeded to hurl insults at all of us in the room. Including slandering the name of the fellows who ran the inn; he was slamming his fist on the table, pointing, shouting, and carrying on and eventually I had grown tired of it.

All I can say I remember clearly is standing up and stepping out of the small space that the two of us had been talking and put a hand on my dagger's hilt. "What're you going to do little elf?" The voice that had spoken was slurred by the amount of drink he had previously.

"I am going to put an end to your loose tongue," My reply had been rather obvious, but it seemed as if he didn't understand at first and he had started up again this time laughing and directing his insults at me. I crossed the floor quietly and quickly making my way over towards him and flicked my hand out. The guard was sitting down at a table, a mug of Ale in front of him. My hand gripped the back of his head and sent it down quickly towards the mug, slamming it into the bridge of his nose. It didn't take long for the shouts to start, his nose now broken along the bridge; blood gushed forth and started to stain his uniform.

"Little bitch!" He shouted, I quickly jumped back as he pulled his blade from its sheath at his hip. It was a short, flat, broad sided sword that is typically worn by the guards, but it was double edged and exceedingly sharp. The next thing I knew he was swiping widely at me, trying his best to stay on his feet in his drunken state.

I am quite light on my feet, I suppose years of dancing my time away as a little girl helped in that regard, so I found it quite easy to evade each of his attacks considering that they were quite clumsy. The owners of the inn had started to shout, and soon a ring of people had surrounded us. As if on cue the bard had struck a livelier tune on his lute.

I had waited till the guard jabbed forward with his sword for my head, the blade sailed past and before he could retract his arm I had gripped his wrist to hold it in place and slammed my hand up under his elbow forcing it the wrong way with such force I was satisfied to hear a crack and a cry in pain. It was then he'd dropped his blade and made his way back to his corner of the room to nurse his wounds uttering threats. The room grew silent, save for the bard's tune which had slowed down as if to fit the situation. Gods damn those people thinking they're funny.

"Get out." The shaky voice of the inn owner ordered quietly, "Get out!" He repeated himself more forcefully.

I shrugged my shoulders and picked up my pack, "Good evening." I remember calling out then something happened and the cut along my brow is a testament to that, but a mug or something just as hard had been flung in my direction and caught me in the forehead above my and along my brow. Blood rushed quickly down into my left eye causing me to shut it as I swore and cursed out several of the Divines. My arms were grabbed roughly as I was dragged out of the inn and hauled towards the palace in Whiterun.

It was then that everything was a blur, and all I know is I'm about fifty septims lighter and freezing my arse off out here in the stables. At least Whiterun isn't like Windhelm or Winterhold, damn those places are hell on Tamriel.

I suppose I should sign off for now, get a move on considering I have a long walk towards Solitude, maybe there I'll finally be able to find a job that won't be "clear out a skeever infestation" or "please make sure my child makes it home to Riverwood safe".

Wish me luck!

Well I guess you can't. You're just paper after all.


End file.
